


Moderate Measures

by tsurai



Series: Witcher tumblr prompts [4]
Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Anal Sex, Cursed Form, M/M, Not Beta Read, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sex Magic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-21
Updated: 2020-06-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:59:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24832729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tsurai/pseuds/tsurai
Summary: anonymous:Witcher smut prompt: Geralt meets "Duny" and tries to break his curse through sex. yes this is dumb. no I am not a furry (quilly?) no i will not apologizeThe general curse-breaking ritual Duny brings to the witcher has some very peculiar parameters. Luckily, Geralt’s willing to take the job.
Relationships: Duny/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Emhyr var Emreis/Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia
Series: Witcher tumblr prompts [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1358932
Comments: 5
Kudos: 106





	Moderate Measures

Granted, the sex magic ritual option is a long shot, but its equally as likely to work as importing Zerrikanian deathroot for a potion that can only be brewed during a lunar eclipse, so there’s that.

“Well?” Duny snaps at him, thighs trembling. “Do you mean to stall all the way to midnight?” Geralt can read the lingering fear in his tone, in how it’s not only Duny’s thighs that tremble as he sits astride Geralt’s lap. Geralt looks up slowly. He’s been taking his time fingering the man, careful to avoid the few bristles along the back of Duny’s legs with his hands. 

The young man’s black, wet nose is scrunched up, eyes dark and scornful. 

Geralt’s still wearing his trousers with only his chest and cock out in the air, but Duny wears nothing but his gloves, fully exposed. Even through the trouser padding meant to protect against arrows and claws, he can feel the quills along the back and outside of Duny’s legs digging in and catching with every shift of weight against Geralt’s thighs.

He knows that Duny hates this cursed form, hates being seen as naked and vulnerable as he is now. At the same time, Geralt thinks it wouldn’t go over well if he tries to reassure him just as they’re about to start. The timing, the candles, the herbs they burned, even the symbols chalked on the floor are to Duny’s exact specifications. That includes the position they sit in, Geralt at the head of the bed.

Geralt’s response is purposefully light. “You already said this is your first time with this, and you’re paying me either way. Might as well make it good.” 

Here, Geralt works a third finger into him, his other hand splayed against Duny’s stomach, thumb brushing the grey skin just above the man’s cock.

Duny scoffs. “You already told me you are not a whore, witcher. I do not need coddling from-” he breaks off, all his quills standing on end as Geralt presses all three fingers along Duny’s prostate and drags. 

He quiets, the grip he has on Geralt’s shoulders tightening. Geralt knows he’s going to have some interesting dreams about Duny’s leather gloves, no matter how necessary they are to keep claws or quills from punching through skin. With his free hand Geralt gently rubs a thumb along Duny’s hip bone, pleased when his long, grey cock jolts, already full and pressing against Geralt’s stomach. 

He meets the cursed man’s black eyes with a challenge, and that seems to be enough to shut him up at last. It’s been nothing but a week of listening to Duny talk about his curse and his research, and much as Geralt’s found himself enjoying the company, he has the ritual to focus on. 

And Duny’s pleasure as well, if Geralt has anything to say about it. 

Geralt drags calloused fingers down, avoiding Duny’s cock to trail along his inner thigh where his skin is free of spines. 

Duny shudders but doesn’t make a sound when Geralt slowly pulls his fingers out of his ass at long last, one eye on the marked candle at their bedside. By his count they still have a few minutes left; perfectly on time. 

Geralt grabs the vial of oil and dribbles it on his own cock this time, coating it liberally until he’s fully hard, and adjusts his trousers one more time so they’re not cutting off blood flow. Duny’s already sitting up on his knees and shuffling forward as Geralt holds himself steady.

“Bear down,” he reminds him, and gets a growl of impatience in response as Duny braces himself against his shoulders. Geralt hisses as Duny tries to take him in, fails, and tries again with a better angle, the head of his cock pushing past a ring of muscle as Duny slowly lowers himself. Geralt stays still – there’s nothing else he can do for the next few minutes, unable to touch anywhere without either distracting the man or pricking himself on his spines.  
Slick warmth finally engulfs Geralt and they both let out groans as Duny works himself further down Geralt’s shaft, an inch at a time. 

“Time?” Duny asks hoarsely.

“A minute, maybe two,” Geralt says, listening to the erratic pace of Duny’s heart and holding their torsos carefully apart. Duny stays still, looking down at where they’re joined with wide eyes before he finally gets his knees under him and raises himself up an inch, then two. 

He’s very careful not to disengage from Geralt, his nails starting to dig into the witcher’s shoulder’s despite the leather between. 

Duny’s gaze snaps up to meet Geralt's at the same moment he very purposefully takes him in to the root. Geralt doesn’t let himself break Duny’s gaze as he sighs his appreciation. His hands itch to take the man by the hips, but Duny forbade him gloves. Instead Geralt reaches between them to take Duny’s flushed cock in hand, but he’s batted away before he can do more then brush the warm skin.

“Wait,” Duny growls, and Geralt sees the purpling of his cheeks, how the color spreads down his chest. Duny’s arousal is thick in Geralt’s nose. He opens his mouth and inhales until he can taste how close the man edges on pain. The pain isn’t making the arousal go away, and the knowledge that Duny’s still getting off on this makes his own cock twitch. Duny lets out a sharp exhale but doesn’t otherwise react.

Almost midnight. 

He sets his hands on the bed, content for now to do what Duny wants. 

What Duny apparently wants is to ride him agonizingly slowly. He uses Geralt’s shoulders as leverage, and Geralt desperately wants to grind up to meet him, but the last thing he needs is to get stuck by a stray quill.

And then Duny is gasping, tightening on Geralt’s cock as midnight sweeps over them. Duny shakes, his features blurring, and when he falls into Geralt’s chest it is with the human face Geralt’s come to know. 

Duny’s breath shudders in Geralt’s ear, and before Geralt can ask if he’s alright, Duny speaks: “Fuck me, witcher.”

The order sends a jolt of heat straight to his cock, Geralt already reaching for Duny’s hips without conscious thought. The pace he sets starts out slow but quickens after a few minutes, once he’s sure it’s pleasure and not pain that has Duny biting back moans. 

Duny’s cock drags between them every time Geralt drops the man’s hips, and soon Geralt can feel trails of precome left on his stomach. 

He grunts, adjusting his hips a moment before thrusting up into Duny again. 

It punches a “Fuck!” out of the man that Duny muffles against his neck. Geralt smirks, and Duny doesn’t look at him before he’s getting his knees under him again, pushing up and sinking down again, the angle exact in hitting his prostate if his moan is anything to go by. 

Geralt lets himself get lost in the heat, watching Duny as the man rides him. The smell of sweat and sex is thick around them, drowning out the acrid leftover of burnt herbs. Candles flicker in the soft draft between shutters, playing over Duny’s slick skin. 

Geralt takes over again when Duny slows, and when he reaches for Duny’s cock the man lets him touch, lets Geralt rock up at the same time as his hand slides down. Sweat and precome are more than enough to coat his calloused hands, and soon Duny’s moans start to grow breathy.

When Duny fists a hand in Geralt’s hair and uses it to turn his head toward him, the kiss that follows more teeth than anything. He meets the challenge with his own teeth, his hand on Duny’s cock tightens and he can feel the tension sparking between them. The lines of muscles under Geralt’s other hand harden and jolt. 

Duny hisses another curse, then buries his face in Geralts’ shoulder as he comes. The witcher fucks him through it, working Duny until his hand is pushed away, neither of them paying mind to the mess. 

Pressure is building in his stomach, that sparking heat through his cock as Duny very purposely constricts around his cock and grinds down into the cradle of Geralt’s hips. 

“Come now, witcher,” the man says, voice a rasp in Geralt’s ear.

He breathes a ragged breath out against Duny’s neck and obeys.

* * *

“You didn’t have to choose the sex magic option, you know.”

“I do not have the coin for Zerrikanian deathroot nor the patience to wait until an eclipse. This was the most expedient choice.” 

Geralt is silent for a moment. “You know it didn’t work.”

“Yes, the lack of lightshow at the end made that rather obvious.”

When he turns to look, there’s a terrible blankness to Duny’s face that Geralt doesn’t like. There will be other opportunities for Duny to break his curse, but Geralt doubts he’s willing to hear any such platitudes. 

Instead, he pulls the sheet off both of them and sits up.

“Ever had someone’s mouth on you before?”

Duny lets himself be distracted.

* * *

In Calanthe’s feast hall, after Pavetta and Duny’s hands are joined, Geralt’s eyes meet his from across the room as the man reverts to human one final time. Duny smiles and dips into a shallow bow.

Geralt smiles back. 

**Author's Note:**

> comments are love! you can prompt and/or [follow me on tumblr](https://tsuraiwrites.tumblr.com/)


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